


What Happens in the Bahamas Stays in the Bahamas (not)

by badboy_fangirl



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-02-07 12:23:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1898904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badboy_fangirl/pseuds/badboy_fangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>A girl in a bikini is like having a loaded gun on your coffee table- There's nothing wrong with them, but it's hard to stop thinking about.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Happens in the Bahamas Stays in the Bahamas (not)

**Author's Note:**

> For some reason fluffyfrolicker's prompts always lead me to Olicity.
> 
>  
> 
> [](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/americanoutlaw/media/Arrow/pleaselovemefelicity_zps16c7dd04.gif.html)  
> 
> 
>  
> 
> Also, Oliver Queen's face always leads me to Olicity.
> 
> ETA: There are SPOILERS for "The Flash" pilot. Because I might have seen it already.

For a working vacation, it's not bad. 

It's the Bahamas, she's there with Oliver and Digg, and she's laying under a golden sun, working on her tan in January. 

And, she's getting paid.

On the plane there, Oliver had been…happy? Jovial, anyway. He made the joke, _What happens in the Bahamas stays in the Bahamas, right, Felicity?_

She'd sent him a withering glance because that was just never going to be funny. Isabel, Russia, all of it. Not funny, not even over a year later.

But, back to the Bahamas. It's lovely there, and Felicity is having a great time. Under the guise of finding new investors to help Oliver get Queen Consolidated back, and finding some guy Amanda Waller claims is a threat to National Security, and that somehow impacts Starling City, and there's just no reasoning with Oliver these days anyway, so free vacation, right? Enjoy it while it lasts, because undoubtedly there will be _no money_ left when they get back.

(So maybe she _won't_ get paid, after all.)

Still sand, sun, a good romance novel to read. Life is not bad.

At least, until Oliver starts flapping his lips about Barry Allen.

 

 

They're supposed to look like rich vacationers, which means they have to put in their time down at the pool. Digg is on his phone with Lyla a lot, and is currently out doing some recon, but Oliver and Felicity are playing it fast and loose with being a pretend couple. 

If anyone's watching his face the first time she takes off her wrap to lie down on the chaise-lounge in her bikini, no one would doubt he's very taken with her.

Because, _good Lord_.

He's admired Felicity's body before. She was in good shape even before she started working out with him and Digg, and the pencil skirts she wears on a regular basis drew his eye from time to time. He's not gonna lie, at least not to himself. You could bounce coins off her ass, and Oliver is generally not crass enough to think thoughts like that, but did he mention, _good Lord_?

But this is a hot pink bikini, with little bows tied over each of her hip bones and he starts salivating in such a way, he's surprised he doesn't have to actually wipe his chin. 

He takes up residence in the chair beside hers by the pool, orders drinks for both of them (Felicity wants a Cosmo, and he sure as hell needs something stronger than beer, so he beckons the waiter closer and says softly, _make mine a double_ ), and then he starts talking about the only thing he can think of.

"You know who I saw a couple weeks ago?" he asks.

She glances up from her book, edging her sunglasses down her nose slightly. "Who?" she asks.

"Barry."

She stares at him over the tops of the lenses for one long moment, and then pushes them back up into their proper place. "Oh, really?" she replies disinterestedly. She lifts her book up so it's between her face and his, which is not good because if she's not tracking his eyes, they fall to her breasts involuntarily. 

Oliver clears his throat and jerks his gaze upward (repeatedly). "Yeah, he's--"

"I know," she snaps, keeping her nose in her book. "He called me to explain."

Confused at her snippy tone, Oliver continues with, "You know he's going to do good with it. I mean, they already caught that one guy--"

"Yes, Oliver, I know," she says, but her tone is very conversation-ending.

He sits there for a moment in silence, just as their drinks arrive. He gets distracted by the waiter ogling Felicity, and he gives him a fair warning with just his eyes, but the guy only smirks at him, so Oliver stands up and gives an Arrow pose, even though he's in board shorts. 

The menace is effective because the guy visibly shrinks back and then scurries away. 

"You going swimming?" Felicity asks, and he turns to look at her. She's slid her glasses down her nose again and is looking at him curiously. 

"No," he answers, sitting back down. Reaching for his drink, he starts guzzling it as she continues to stare at him. 

"Better slow down, Mr. Queen," she says with a chuckle. She takes her glasses off completely and sets them and her book aside to pick up her Cosmo. 

"Why're you mad at Barry?" Oliver asks.

Felicity sighs, and shakes her head. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Felic--"

"Oliver!" She puts her hand out towards him, palm flat. "Stop. It's none of your business, and I'm not talking about it."

He mumbles an apology into the rim of his glass and then finishes his drink. She averts her eyes to their surroundings, watching the other hotel patrons swimming and sunning nearby.

A few silent moments pass, so Oliver leans back in his chair and shuts his eyes. He can't keep looking at all her beautiful, smooth, slightly pink skin without wanting to touch her, and he somehow got out there without his own sunglasses, so the only option is just _out of sight, out of mind_.

Except, that with his eyes closed, and the quiet surrounding them, the laughter and splashing from the pool fades away, feeling distant. He can still see her, even if he's not looking at her, and not for the first time, he wishes that his desire for her wasn't so wrapped up in his emotions for her. If he just wanted to fuck her, that would be one thing. He could handle that, could handle denying himself the pleasure. His most frequent fantasy of Felicity included the actual sex, touching her, being inside her, feeling her hands all over him, but there was always the aftermath that got played the most in his head. How they would lie on the pillows facing each other and talk about a million things, starting with how he feels about her. How she amazes him. How she frustrates him. How she can make everything calm inside him, but somehow also incite a riot within him, too. How he'd reach over and slide his hand between her legs just because he could, because he'd have the right.

"He once told me something. He made me a promise, and by the time I wanted to act on it, he was in a coma. But I really thought when he woke up, maybe it would be the right time, but it wasn't. And I guess the day he saw you, that was also the day he called me, to tell me that. And I'm not so much mad at him as I am…frustrated by certain things in my life."

Oliver's eyes pop open as Felicity starts speaking, but he can't tell if she's looking at him because she's put her sunglasses back on. "I'm not trying to be a bitch to you. I know you're just…you've always been supportive of me and Barry. But, you know, there is _no_ me and Barry, and I guess I'm a little sensitive."

A pain lodges itself in his chest as she talks, and he's once again assailed by the variety of emotions that she evokes in him. He just wants her to be happy, and Barry Allen did seem like a good fit, from what little he knew about the kid. "You couldn't be a bitch if you tried, Felicity, trust me." Her lips quirk up into a smile and then she brings the straw of her drink to her mouth. He almost loses his train of thought as she slides the item between her lips. "Maybe give Barry some time; once he gets the hang of his new situation, he might--"

"It's not about Barry," she interrupts, though her voice is soft now, no anger present. "It's about me."

"How is it about you?" Oliver asks. His body is relaxed, _thank you, Cosmo,_ which is good. He can look at her without worrying that his body is going to react.

At least, that's what he thinks until she turns her head, and even though he can't see her eyes, he knows she's looking right at him. "It's about me having feelings for someone else, and Barry knowing that, and he's already played second fiddle with some other girl, and he doesn't want to do it with me. Especially when he…"

Something floods Oliver's mind and body that has nothing to do with her lack of clothing; it's that place that neither of them ever really go, unless it's a Freudian slip or a ruse to lure out a madman. They are right on the outskirts of it, dancing at the edge, and it's probably the alcohol in his system, but he suddenly, desperately wants to breach that border.

"Especially when he respects the other guy so much," Felicity finishes, and the weight and meaning of her gaze is tangible, even without the visibility.

Oliver's phone buzzes right then and he picks it up automatically, simultaneously cursing Diggle's timing and feeling a rush of relief that whatever might happen next has to be postponed. "Digg, talk to me," he says, putting the phone to his ear.

They have to make their move now, his friend tells him. It's now or never.

When Oliver stretches out his hand to help Felicity to her feet so they can rush back to the hotel room where they've set up their mobile lair, he can't help but wonder how accurate that statement is.

 

 

Felicity sits down at the computer and puts in the name Diggle found, and sure enough a quick hacking of their favorite databases show that the guy in question is the man they are looking for. 

Oliver looks at her apologetically, but then leaves the room to go put on his Arrow outfit. Which is a shame, because if there's any man whose uniform for life should be neon orange board shorts, it's Oliver Queen.

After he's gone she worries that the drink he had might interfere with the steadiness he needs to do his job, but as they talk back and forth on the head set, her fear settles. She's probably more drunk after three sips of her cocktail than he is after downing a 40. It's the height/weight/muscle mass ratio that she sometimes thinks about, you know, when there's nothing else to think about and he's half naked going up the salmon ladder or whatever. 

She can be clinical from time to time, and it helps a lot. Because basically, Oliver being half-naked around her is a pretty common occurrence and she had to find a way to not be breathless every time it happened. It worked most of the time.

Like today. Today was no biggie, him in his pool-wear. No, today, what got her was the way he kept looking at her. It had made her kinda stupid. She'd just started talking, and not babbling like her normal self, no, not that. Instead it had been a virtual retelling of the conversation she had with Barry a couple of weeks ago. Luckily she'd stopped shy of the part where Barry told her she ought to tell Oliver how she felt before the moment passed again and he was with someone else, because Barry was going through that right now with his friend Iris, and well, it sucked. He cares about Felicity and _yadda, yadda, yadda_.

She's mostly sick of men, for whom she has a romantic interest in, cheerleading the other men she happens to also have romantic interest in. It's just confusing, and maddening, and Felicity doesn't need that sort of complication in her life.

"Okay, I'm here," Oliver's voice says over the speaker in her ear. "But there's no one else here."

"I'm here," Diggle's voice says. "At your 2 o'clock. See me?"

A short pause. "Yes. But where's the mark?"

"Just went north from where you're standing. He was walking pretty fast, and disappeared in the building on the right at the top of the street."

Felicity's using satellite feeds to see if she can get any more information, but then suddenly she can hear the thud-whack-smash sound that often follows communications with Oliver.

She hears him grunt in pain, and the familiar panic starts to flow through her.

This is the worst job in the world, why did she sign up for it? Some days it's hard to remember.

Soon enough, he has the upper hand, however, and he's barking orders and commands to the guy, and the guy is sobbing, promising to do whatever The Arrow wants him to do. 

(The Arrow accompanies him back to his office to see that it's done. Felicity watches bank accounts fluctuate, some go up, others go down.)

When it's over and Oliver indicates he's on his way back to the hotel, Digg's voice comes over the comm. "I'm heading to the airport to catch the first flight home. See you guys in a couple days."

"Wait! What?" Felicity asks.

"Lyla might pop any day, I'm not missing it," he murmurs. "I have the flights outta here memorized and there's one I could be on in an hour. We're good. You two," and his voice drops just slightly, but enough that Felicity feels her cheeks heat. "Have fun."

Oliver's silence is deafening.

 

 

When he gets back to the hotel, Felicity is still sitting at her small bank of computers, which here, consists of two laptops and an iPad. She's still wearing the little white robe that covers her bikini, and to be honest, Oliver thought for sure she'd have changed into regular clothes by now.

Then again, it's actually still daylight out there, and she might want to go swimming.

Although the dismay in her voice when Digg announced his departure didn't strike Oliver as something to do with her recreational activities being disrupted. But what does he know? She seemed like she was trying to tell him that Barry Allen, AKA _The Flash_ thinks she has feelings for Oliver and that she ought to do something about it. 

Somewhere between Starling City and a poolside chat on Paradise Island (no, seriously, that was the name of the place), Oliver had come to the conclusion that that's about all he wanted. _To do something about it._

He blames the bikini. Completely. He was fine until he saw that bikini. (And everything that bikini didn't cover.)

She glances over at him as he puts the duffle bag down that has his bow and arrow, mask, and hood in it. He'd walked in and out of the hotel in his leather pants and a white t-shirt, fairly inconspicuous. "That went well," she chirps.

(Okay, it was a lot of other things that made him want to do something, but that bikini just put him over the top.)

"Yes, it did," he replies. He's not sure what to say next. It's not like it boils down to _do you wanna have sex with me?_ because everything between him and Felicity has always been so much _more_ than that, but his brain has seriously short-circuited to the point that that seems like the only question grazing the end of his tongue.

So he bites it to prevent the words from leaving his mouth.

Felicity stands up and looks at him fully, letting her eyes linger for longer than just a brief second. She's tense. He's surprised words aren't leaping out of her mouth as they tend to do when she's wound up, but maybe that's the difference here for her, too.

They just look at each other in silence. And the space between just seems to magically shrink, and he's winding his arms around her and she's climbing his body like a spider monkey, and finally, _finally_ his mouth is on hers. His tongue is in her mouth, and she is warm and sweet and everything he ever dreamt she could be. 

When she pulls back for breath, her feet are hanging several inches above the floor and her arms are locked around his neck. "What happens in the Bahamas, stays in the Bahamas?" she asks/suggests/pleads.

Oliver's not dumb enough to agree to that, so he mutters, "Hell, no," against her collar bone. He turns them both towards the bed and follows her down on to it. The breath whooshes out of her as he lands on top of her, and he says, "Feel free to tell everyone, especially Barry."

Felicity starts laughing then, but it chokes off into a moan that sounds vaguely like his name when he pulls the left cup of her bikini top down and takes her nipple into his mouth. Her fingers comb through his hair, and the scrape of her nails against his scalp is electrifying for some inexplicable reason. He flattens his tongue on the underside of her nipple, and then presses it up against the roof of his mouth. She makes a sound that matches the urgency inside him, so he reluctantly takes his mouth off her body. Shoving himself up and off her to pull his shirt up over his head, he also pushes her short robe all the way open, openly admires the lines of her body, the curve at her waist and hip, and the sweet expanse of thigh, and _inner_ thigh, and _holy shit_ , he can see where the hot pink material between her thighs is damp.

He closes his eyes in an effort to rein it in, because he might just burst right out of his skin if he's not careful.

Then he feels Felicity move so she's sitting up while he's still kneeling between her legs, and she yanks the button and zipper open on the fly of his pants. "I love these leather pants," she says, breathless and excited and flushed. Oliver opens his eyes to look down at her, and the way she's looking up at him, now over the tops of her regular glasses, puts him somewhere between wildly urgent and completely batshit crazy. She peels the top of his pants down, taking his underwear with them, and then leans forward just slightly to press a kiss to the head of his cock as it is freed from the confines of his clothing.

He reaches down, grabs each of her wrists in his hands and then uses his body to maneuver her back into a prone position on the bed. He looms over her, searching her face, looking for what he's not quite sure.

But then he sees it, and he knows. He knew months ago when he said it the first time, only this time they both know he means it.

"I love _you_ ," he says, but it comes out sort of whispery, not dominant at all, the perfect juxtaposition to his body curved over hers. 

Felicity smiles, her lips trembling appealingly. "I love you, Oliver Queen."

 

 

In the beautifully white-linened, king-sized bed of a hotel in the Bahamas, Felicity lies on her side, her head on a pillow, facing the man she loves as he looks back at her. He's a little worse for wear; his lips are swollen from kisses that had gone on and on and on (that she might keep stealing even now that they have done this three times in as quick succession as they can--Oliver has pretty great stamina, an apparent benefit of working out), and his eyes are the bluest blue they've ever been, but they're sleepy, so he keeps blinking lethargically. He has a hickey at the base of his throat that matches the one she's got on the inside of her thigh. His hair is poking up in all different directions. 

In other words, she's never seen him look better. And he has many, many, _many_ good looks.

Right now, in between the sluggish batting of his eyelashes and the blindingly sappy smile decorating his mouth, oh, and the bedsheet that's lying somewhat modestly over his lower body, he's never been more beautiful. 

He's also got one hand between her legs, and she's very quickly losing her ability to list off all the things she's currently noticing about him, because he's slipping a finger inside her while his thumb plays at her clitoris. Her breathing is getting more and more shallow, and he whispers, " _Come_ ," at the exact moment that he curls his finger inside her and presses his thumb down. 

Felicity gasps and moans, and her hand shoots out to brace her trembling body against his shoulder. "Holy shit," she breathes a moment later, and Oliver chuckles. 

"That's what I thought," he murmurs.

Felicity's eyes fall shut, of their own volition. She's trying to hold them open, but she can't. He takes the hand from his shoulder and folds it in his, presses a kiss to her knuckles, and whispers, "Sleep, Felicity. Sleep with me."

It's the nicest invitation she's ever had.


End file.
